by Mary Monroe
“He’s a thriller alright, but he kinda smells like this undertaker I used to know,” Chick said, rubbing a forefinger beneath her narrow nose. “I guess he’ll be alright as long as he don’t have cold hands. That always did give me the creeps.” Chick sucked her teeth rudely, still unsure if letting the men camp there was a good move. Despite her petite frame, Chick was as tough as nails and handled herself like a much larger woman. She always said, “A colored girl’s gotta carry her own weight and a lot more if she wants to make a dent in this world.” In Chick’s case, her bite was a lot worse than her bark, a lot worse.
“Melvina, Daisy!” Franchetta hollered loudly to summon the others. “Come and see what I went out and got for the house!” A bit aggravated and growing colder on the front porch, Henry sighed when he realized the game wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Baltimore understood fully. Franchetta was in control the entire time, but she wanted the other women to feel as though they had some say in the matter, when, in actuality, she was going to do what she always had: whatever she damned well pleased. When the two remaining roommates appeared behind the first two, Henry’s mouth watered at the thought of sleeping under the same roof with four beauties.
“What’s with them standing there like statues?” Melvina asked as she peeked at the men over Chick’s shoulder. This one made Henry nervous in the worst way. Melvina Hicks was a saucy brown thing with a sturdy frame, the kind that made a man change his religion and his name. Her soft brown eyes and generous breasts were hard on a man’s constitution, and his bank account, once she got her hooks in him. One look at Henry and no one had to guess what he was thinking. His face resembled one big wagging tongue.
“What you looking at!” Chick scolded him, sensing that Henry’s hormones were firing up. “Let’s get something straight. Ain’t gonna be no fooling around if we do decide to let y’all in.”
“Daisy, what you think about my bright idea to let these pals of mine flop here awhile?” Franchetta asked the youngest of the four.
Daisy Wilson, satin brown with an hourglass figure, stuck her neck out and looked the men up one side and down the other. Baltimore and Henry tried to stare straight ahead during her inspection instead of allowing their horns to show. One renegade glance made Baltimore wish he hadn’t. Daisy was no more than twenty-one years old, but she’d been hooking for three years, since her mother threw her out into the streets for screwing around with her stepfather. Now, there was no proof of the affair, but everyone in town knew he’d been after Daisy for years, and from the day she celebrated seventeen, he couldn’t seem to find his way to his wife’s bed. A week later Daisy was out on her own and entertaining in a cathouse, before she met up with Franchetta and the girls. “I ont rightly know,” Daisy answered quietly. “Where they’s gon’ sleep?”
“With me?” Franchetta answered assuredly. “Won’t that be cozy.”
Melvina smirked her displeasure over Franchetta’s blatant disregard of her vote. “Wait a minute, Frannie. Just how is it that you get both of ’em?”
Franchetta cast a glint at Chick from the corner of her eye. “Appears to me, Chick, we just done decided.” Before walking away from the interview of sorts, Franchetta made her position plain. “Come on in out of that cold, boys. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“You telling me,” mumbled Henry as the ladies retreated inside. “Baltimo’, would you look at that. This house has more ass than a team of mules.”
“Just don’t go getting in no hurry trying to ride them all at once,” Baltimore suggested. “Wait and see. Take it slow. You have to treat sporting women a certain kinda way when they’s off the clock. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. I ain’t wrong about this. You’ll see.”
Henry’s eyes widened when his friend’s words hit home. “Baltimo’, you can’t mean all of ’em are sporting women?” Henry couldn’t believe his good luck as Baltimore eagerly entered into the front room. “Hey, Balt, is all of ’em?” Henry queried softly, heavy on Baltimore’s heels. “Ahh, man, when I die, forget going to heaven. I’m coming back here.”
Once the men were comfortably inside, both of them surveyed the house with a wandering eye. Right away, Henry saw that the fireplace was in desperate need of repair, as were many other amenities. The hardwood floor that covered the first floor needed corking in several places, the curtain rod over the big bay window needed to be rehung, and Henry had never been in a woman’s home that didn’t have a leaky faucet or two. Baltimore glanced at Henry, pretty near reading his mind, because he was thinking the same thing: how it would be a privilege to help the girls fix up their humble abode while taking advantage of their hospitality.
“Here. Please take care of my hat. It’s the only one I got,” Henry said, handing it over to Chick.
She took the light-shaded Stetson from him and eyed it like he should have selected another one. “Don’t mention it. I’ll put it in the safe,” she scoffed.
“Franchetta, do you by chance have any carpentry tools or a handyman’s box?” Baltimore asked before he set the luggage on the floor.
A thankful smile danced across Franchetta’s thin lips when she looked around the living room area to evaluate what the men saw. “I know it could use some work. It’s small, but it’s ours. Yeah, y’all can find a box of hardware, hammers, and nails out in the car shed. The previous owner didn’t have any further use for them. Why on’t y’all change in my room and have at whatever you see broke.” Henry followed Baltimore into the bedroom at the bottom of the staircase and closed the door.
“Huh? Henry looks to be worth his keep, but your friend Baltimore is too damned pretty to be any good with his hands,” Chick cracked at the first opportunity. “Least not around no workman’s tools, I’d bet,” she added on second thought, still not completely sold on them invading her safe haven.
“Oh, he’s full of surprises, ladies,” Franchetta answered for the other women who might have been wondering how useful Baltimore could be in the maintenance department. “Chances are, anything you can think of, Baltimore has already come up with three ways to pull it off, work it out, and make it holler.”
Daisy peeked over her magazine and giggled, but Melvina was inspired and liked what she heard. “Is that so?” she asked, hoping it was. “We are still talking about tending to things around the house, right? ’Cause I’d hate for a girl to build her hopes up and be all a shamble behind a heap of disappointment.”
“There’s not an ounce of letdown in him,” Franchetta asserted. “Uh-uh, not one little ole pinch of it. Not one.”
After the fellows walked over every inch of the four-bedroom house and compiled a list of things to be attended to, they agreed on who would be responsible for each task. They were fast at work in a jiffy and glad to do it. Franchetta changed into comfortable house clothes: a white long-sleeve cotton blouse and a pair of hunter green polyester slacks. She displayed everything she’d copped from the department store by laying it out on her bed while sharing how Baltimore had literally jumped from a moving car and rescued her. “Sure, he did,” Franchetta boasted when Melvina and Chick made it obvious they thought she was embellishing the story. “Don’t y’all be looking at me cockeyed like that. I’m not putting on. I’m telling you straight. The taxicab was still moving when he leaped out and dashed over like a comic-book hero to come and see about me.” When the other women laughed, Franchetta agreed that she’d gone too far with that one. “Anyways, Baltimore saved me from that store manager with some of the slickest talking you ever heard.”
“What’d he say, Frannie?” Daisy begged to know.
Franchetta pounced off the bed and began strutting around the room, with her fists anchored on her hips. “This is how he strutted up, all dignified like a college boy,” she told them as she pranced. “He said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but I do believe you have my white woman, and I want her back.’”
“He did not,” Chick argued, wide-eyed but refusing to believe it.
“Of course, he d
idn’t, or I’d be in the clink for sure,” Franchetta confessed. “But he may as well have by the way that cracker, who was holding on to me by the wrist, stared at him. Baltimore says right out of the box, ‘There you are, madame. We’ve been searching for you hither and thither, or something just as hoity-toity. Then he busted out about how Mr. Woolworth would be so glad that I didn’t get myself into trouble again, on account of my kleptomanium.”
“Your which?” asked Melvina.
“You know, that brain glitch some rich white folks get that makes them steal what they could pay for outright,” Franchetta answered the best way she knew how.
“Oh yeah, I have heard of that,” Melvina remembered. “That was good thinking. What else did Baltimore do?”
“Yeah, what else?” asked Daisy, bright-eyed and all aglow as Chick sat there with her arms folded across her chest.
“Well, Baltimore waved over at the taxi, telling the white fella how my husband, the Mr. Woolworth, would spare no expense getting me to the Waldorf safe and sound. Yeah, he laid it on about how they should get off the sidewalk and step inside the store to discuss how my stunt could cause one of the wealthiest men in America a certain dreadful miscalculation…something or another, you know, to really get the man’s mind off of me. The way Baltimore was tossing those five-dollar words around, I almost believed I was entitled to a rich white man’s money myself. And once the store manager bit down on the hook, it was all over but the crying. That’s when I lifted his billfold. I figured that belonged to me for my troubles, but I gave the take to Baltimore for getting me out of the jam.”
“Wow, that’s something alright,” Daisy said in amazement. “So if he didn’t happen by when he did, Frannie, you’d be in the pokey right now?”
“No doubt about it,” Franchetta answered soberly.
“Okay, so you paid the man his due,” Chick said, reasoning that that should have been enough. “So why bring him and his friend all the way out here?”
“I’m glad you asked, Chick. Remember how we ended up sitting on our empty pockets when the pipe fitters’ convention came through last year, only because we didn’t have anyone to promote us to over three hundred plumbers looking for something different to do? A man like Baltimore is a good man to know and a pitch above perfect in the negotiating area.”
“Uh-uh, I don’t need no pimp,” Chick objected adamantly, although Melvina felt the same way.
“And I’m not getting us one, neither,” Franchetta informed them. “We could use a promoter for the automobilers coming into town by the train- and busloads. Now, a smart man could keep us busy every day for a week. There will be some big spenders rolling in, a lot of money to be had, and we should be looking to get some of it before it’s gone.” She peered at Chick, then at Melvina, and lastly, at Daisy. Franchetta could tell they were lamenting over the dry spells they’d had to endure from time to time. Once she’d adequately baited her line, she decided to let it ride the current until the time came to get out the net. “I’m going into the kitchen to put something together for dinner. Y’all think on it a while. You’ll come around.” Franchetta disappeared, closing the door behind her so the girls could discuss their interest in acquiring a potential promoter. Franchetta’s insides fluttered when she heard the comforting clomps of manly footsteps throughout the house. It almost felt like having a man of her own, with four big feet.
CHAPTER 5
IN MY RECOLLECTION
Thirty minutes after Franchetta called the corner grocer with her delivery order, a young, pimply-faced teenager arrived on his bicycle with two bags stored inside a wire-framed handlebar basket. Franchetta paid and quickly sent the boy away. She floated around the small kitchen while setting out cutting boards, mixing bowls, and seasonings. It didn’t take too long before Melvina and Daisy joined her, with Chick dragging along behind them, like it pained her to do so. Daisy’s face brightened when she saw the preparations for a grand dinner spread. “Ooh, Frannie, you must really like having that man around?” she asked knowingly. “He must have been heavy on your heart once upon a time.”
“Hmmm,” Melvina sighed pleasantly. “Seems to me, he still is.”
“The older y’all get, the more you’ll realize how some things never change,” Franchetta said, then blushed. “Now who’s gonna peel those potatoes?” she asked, motioning over to a five-pound sack resting on the oatmeal-colored Formica countertop.
“Uh-uh, not me,” squealed Daisy, “I’ve never been good at peelin’, but I wouldn’t mind pulling on some snap peas.” She plopped down happily onto a metal chair with padded blue vinyl cushions.
“Is that sage I smell?” asked Chick, with a measured amount of reluctance. “What you know about corn-bread stuffing?” she teased Franchetta, assuming that was what the spice had been used for.
“You think you know better?” Franchetta replied, licking a smidge of stuffing from the tip of her finger.
“Ooh!” howled Melvina. “If you can’t stand the heat, get the hell out of the kitchen.”
“Oh, I can stand it alright, but what if things get too hot for all of us?” Chick offered, speaking of Baltimore handling the promotion end of their business over the next week.
“Let me worry about that,” answered Franchetta, with a stern eye.
Melvina nervously rubbed her open palms along the ridges of her curvy hips as she drew in a measured breath and frowned. Daisy stood silently, with her hands buried deep in a plastic bowl of snap peas. “Chick’s got a point, Frannie,” Melvina said, siding with Chick for the time being. “I mean, Baltimore seems like a real nice man, but all we know about him is what he did to keep you from getting pinched today.”
Finally, Daisy looked up from her duties to share in the conversation. “Frannie, how’d you come to know Baltimore in the first place?” That question put a subtle shine on Franchetta’s lips as she thought back to the very day she laid eyes on him.
“Well, I’d run off to see the world, since I couldn’t decide on what I wanted to do with my life. At sixteen, I came of age and realized I was a woman. I took up with this traveling carnival that pitched a tent in Beaumont, Texas, where I hired on as a popcorn girl. I made a little money and bought me a couple of dresses, you know, to help me appear older than I was.”
“Too bad they don’t make dresses to help a woman to appear younger,” Melvina quipped as she chuckled heartily.
“Wouldn’t that be something,” Franchetta agreed. “Well, we rambled up the eastern seaboard before winter set in and then, one day, pulled into the tiniest little tick on the map, called Whiskey Bottom, Maryland. I was bored and growing eager to sell more than just popcorn, but the headman wouldn’t let me outta his sight until I turned seventeen. He said so’s I could get those girlish notions out of my head before I found more trouble than I bargained for. My second day in Whiskey Bottom was much like all the others, hawking boxes of corn and keeping clear of the slugs who worked on the machinery, ’cause they had some bad habits and a taste for young girls. It was half past three when the sun shined on a brash eighteen-year-old strutting around like a prized peacock, with three girls on his arms and spending money like he was snatching it down off of trees.”
“That was Baltimore?” squealed Daisy as she became noticeably more excited than before.
“And that was ten or so years ago, but, yeah, he was a fine young thing and so sure of himself that lots of grown men at the carnival sneered at him something fierce, but they was just jealous, and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from showing those girls of his a grand afternoon and smiling about it while rubbing the other men’s noses in it. Before nightfall, I caught his attention and asked if I could speak to him, alone. The next day, he showed up without his arm pieces, but he was just as generous. He won so many Kewpie dolls and stuffed animals that we couldn’t carry them all. Hell, I didn’t know what was going on until it happened. That boy had me so sweet on him that my teeth hurt every time I said his name. And, that was just for starte
rs.” Franchetta went on to explain how she stayed awake at night, thinking about being with the smooth youngster she’d met just south of the Baltimore, Maryland, county line. She wrote down his address and wrote to him for months. He didn’t return any of her letters until she sent him a postcard from Santa Fe, New Mexico, informing him that she was now seventeen, legal, and desperately fighting off the carnival headman’s advances every night. Within a week, Baltimore caught up to the troupe, setting up camp in El Paso. He’d boarded a train and subsequently stolen a late-model automobile, and there he was, standing right outside the popcorn stand a few minutes before opening time. It appeared that he hadn’t slept in days, but his beige cotton blazer and white linen slacks were as crisp as a new dollar bill. “Before I could speak,” Franchetta continued, “he held out his hand and told me, ‘Come on, baby girl. Let’s go home,’ like I was supposed to up and fly off to Lawd knows where with him.”
Melvina was breathless, while Daisy actually held hers, awaiting the outcome of Franchetta’s fascinating tale. “So, after he came all that way, trotting behind you, what did you say?” asked Chick, now drawn in as well.
Franchetta tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and giggled. “I didn’t say a damned thing. I up and flew off to Lawd knows where with him, like I was supposed to.”
The small room, which smelled of cooking spices and a barely noticeable commingling of reasonably priced department store perfumes, roared with unbridled cackles from the women, including Franchetta, who said, with her head cocked to the side for emphasis sake, “My mama didn’t raise no fool.” None of the girls knew it, but Baltimore and Henry had been listening to their conversation from a mouse hole they’d begun to cork in Daisy’s upstairs bedroom.
